The next thing they knew they were hurtling through the underground passages and caverns that led to the Museum of Magical Miscellany. It didn’t matter how many times he rode on them, Archie never tired of the seats of learning. They were like the best-ever roller-coaster ride and flying all rolled into one. Sharing it with his cousins made it even more fun.

Every time they went around a bend, all three of them whooped with delight. Archie and Thistle’s seats seemed to be moving even faster than normal today.

‘Keep up, Bram!’ Thistle called over his shoulder as the two of them pulled ahead. It must be the added zip in the motion potion, Archie thought.

The tunnel ended abruptly and they flew into the Bookery, a cavernous space, where magical books flew about like flocks of birds. The flying books swooped and soared all around them, dodging out of their way at the last moment.

Ahead of them in the gloom a light shone. The box seats flew towards it, descending in a series of circles and coming to a halt in a long corridor called the Happy Landing.

‘We’re here,’ said Archie, unclipping his belt and hopping out of his seat.

As usual, the museum was full of apprentices. Most of those working in the Great Gallery were doing their minding apprenticeships. Minders made sure all the magical books were in good order and filed in the right place.

The finders were assigned to one of the three magical departments: natural, mortal or supernatural magic. They learned to identify which sort of magic a book contained. There was usually only one apprentice bookbinder at a time who, until a few days ago, had been Archie but the position was now vacant.

The air above their heads was filled with flying books, flapping their covers like wings. There was an enchantment on the building that allowed the books with a special stamp to move. It saved the apprentices work because the books filed themselves on the shelves.

Archie made his way to the West Gallery and up the first set of stairs leading to the Scriptorium. Lost Books was on the next floor, up a second staircase.

‘Good luck, Arch,’ said Bramble. ‘Not that you need it, you’ll be fine.’

‘Tell us all about it after work,’ added Thistle.

Archie reached the top step and waved. One of the double doors was open.

Gideon Hawke was sitting behind his desk staring at a green glass bottle that looked like the sort that contains medicine. When he saw Archie, he quickly slid it into a drawer.

‘Ah, Archie!’ he called. ‘Come on in.’

Archie was slightly in awe of Hawke. Recently the head of Lost Books had taken a keen interest in Archie’s book-whispering talents and the magic-writing skills of the Alchemists’ Club.

It had been Hawke’s idea that Archie and the others should start rewriting the magical books in the museum in secret. Some of the other elders knew what they were doing but Hawke had said it was better if the Magical League and the Royal Society of Magic didn’t know. It would only cause trouble, he said.

‘Come in and sit down,’ Hawke said, indicating the battered leather sofa in the middle of the room. There was a fire burning in the hearth. On the desk, Archie noticed some magical tools. The black-handled imagining glass Hawke used to examine magical books was there, and the Shadow Blade, the enchanted blade made from the reflection of a shooting star.

Archie took a seat on the sofa. The room was as cluttered as ever but a table had been cleared next to the desk and a crystal ball the size of a very large goldfish bowl placed upon it. Archie was sure it hadn’t been there before.

‘It’s an oculus,’ said Hawke, answering Archie’s unspoken question. ‘It allows me to communicate directly with the magical authorities. Unfortunately, it also enables them to communicate directly with me!’ he added with a wry smile.

Archie peered at his own reflection in the oculus, noticing how his nose and lips were magnified in the glass.

When he looked up, Hawke was studying him. ‘But you aren’t here to learn about magical instruments,’ he said. ‘Zeb tells me that you have the magic diviner’s mark. Show me.’

Archie held out his open hand. Hawke picked up the imagining glass and inspected the new firemark there. When he was satisfied, he stood up and began pacing the room, a sure sign that he had something on his mind. After a while, he crossed to the fire and stared into the flames. ‘I suppose you heard about what happened to Wolfus?’ he asked.

Archie knew that Bone had received a nasty drubbing because he’d overheard Woodbine telling Loretta. There was no point lying to Hawke – he always seemed to see straight through him.

He nodded. ‘Is he badly hurt?’  

Hawke stoked the fire with a poker. ‘He’ll recover,’ he said, ‘but it was a vicious attack. He’ll be out of action for some time.’ He paused. ‘It leaves us without a diviner at the museum at a time when we need one most.’

‘A diviner can sense magical activity,’ Hawke added, ‘and provide an early warning of danger.’

Archie had seen Wolfus Bone use a dowsing rod to tell where magical energy was coming from and how strong it was. Bone could also tell what sort of magic it was – natural, mortal or supernatural.

Hawke began pacing again. He stopped abruptly and turned on his heel, as if he’d made up his mind about something.

‘I want you to take Wolfus’s place until he is ready to come back,’ he said.

‘But I don’t know anything about magic divining!’ Archie exclaimed.

‘You have the firemark,’ said Hawke. ‘That’s the most important thing. I can show you the basics and Wolfus can teach you the rest when he’s back on his feet.’

‘Erm, well, if you think I’m up to it,’ said Archie, ‘I’ll give it a try.’

‘Good,’ said Hawke. ‘Come back tomorrow and we’ll get you started.’

*

At that same moment fifty miles away in London at the offices of Folly & Catchpole, the oldest lore firm in England, Horace Catchpole shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He studied the open ledger on his desk. He’d heard that a dangerous book had been stolen from the Royal Society of Magic, and it had unsettled him. Horace knew enough about magic to know that there was something going on and it might be connected to one of the firm’s clients.

Folly & Catchpole specialised in the storage of magical items and other secrets in its underground cellar known as the dungeon. Instructions were kept in ledgers like the one in Horace’s hands. An entry dated 6th September 1666 was troubling him. He had been looking at it all afternoon.

Folly & Catchpole’s reputation was built on two simple principles: minding its own business and not making mistakes. It was the first of these that was bothering Horace. The firm’s clients expected their instructions to be followed to the letter. No one knew that better than him. And yet, as he read and reread the entry in the ledger, he couldn’t help wondering whether he should report it to the magical authorities. It said:

Property of Fabian Grey.
Do NOT remove.
Owner will collect.